


in the hands of the world's greatest lover

by anticupid16



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, magic is known, present day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticupid16/pseuds/anticupid16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A present day soulmate AU in which the last words your soulmate will speak to you are written on your body. Once your soulmate has died the words will fade and altogether disappear. <br/>The three parts will be relatively distinctive.</p><p>Merlin doesn't quite understand why Gwen needed to buy out the entire wine section, that is until he sees how much wine the Pendragon twins need to drink in a single meal. Somehow--probably all that wine--he's roped into the complicated political battle between Uther Pendragon and his daughter Morgana over whether magic should be legal in the modern world, and especially if it should be taught. But of course, Merlin's life can't be anything less than soap opera dramatic and he's forced to deal with the typical problems of being in his twenties with no future plans and the romantic reluctancies that come with having a ridiculously unfair and common phrase printed on his body as the last thing he'll hear from his soulmate, whoever that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the hands of the world's greatest lover

“Thank you.” 

Those words had been written on Merlin Emrys’s upper left arm since he was born. They were the last words his soul mate would say to him. Almost everyone had a similar mark somewhere on their body; a series of words scribbled on them like some god had decided to give them a cruel hint. Nothing could make the words disappear except for the death of a soul mate. Every year after that death, the words would fade bit by bit. Sometimes, new words would replace them, but more often than not they just disappeared. Some people tattooed over them to make them stay forever, but Merlin thought that was ridiculous. He didn’t even want the words there in the first place. 

When he was six, and his mum had sat him down to explain the faded grey words on her own wrist, he’d bawled his eyes out first, accidentally broke a light bulb with magic, and then tried to scrub the words off his arm in the bath that night. But magic and soap did nothing against fate, and his mother had chastised him repeatedly for trying at all. The last words his father, Balinor, had spoken were lost now, faded into Hunith’s skin. The words on Merlin’s arm were still stark black against his pale skin.

Growing up, his best mate Will had been the only person in Ealdor without words tattooed on him by magic. It was only fitting, then, that the strange boy with no words, and the stranger boy with actual magical powers become best friends. Magic was a reality of the modern world, but in a town like Ealdor, where the news that magic was “all right” had trickled in a few years after most of the world’s governments acknowledged the existence of magical beings, a kid like Merlin Emrys who could summon his pencil from across the classroom was a bit of a fright. 

That was part of the reason Merlin had moved to Cardiff after he got tired of being juggled around by the few shop owners of Ealdor who neither wanted to admit that his magic was useful, nor that it was scary. Apparently, it was just easier for everyone to pretend that Merlin didn’t have magic powers, and he couldn’t stand that. So he’d packed up his duffle, gotten on a train, and crashed on his uncle Gaius’s couch for a few weeks before finding a flat and a job (both were utter shit, but at least he was no longer that ‘unfortunate Emrys boy’). 

The chip shop he worked at was greasy, claustrophobic, and open only in the evenings and into the early morning hours, but it was also paying his half of the rent. He’d wandered in one night on accident and wandered out with a job and a new best friend—Gwaine—who’d offered him the spare room in his flat. Gwaine was charming, flirtatious, and more than a little promiscuous, but Merlin hardly minded all of that because Gwaine thought magic was the coolest thing in the world. Gwaine also was friends with the sweet girl across the hall from them, Gwen Smith, who was Merlin’s other new best friend. 

And because Gwen was Merlin’s best friend, and because Merlin was very nice to his friends, he found himself helping her cook a ridiculously extravagant meal for her uni friends, who were coming in for a visit after a couple of years abroad. 

“Gwen,” he complained for the fifth time since she’d handed him the steaks to be pounded. “There are only two of them, and plus you, me, and Gwaine, we hardly need this much food.” He glanced up at the very long line of wine bottles. “Or wine.” 

“I don’t know what they’ll eat,” she said, sounding a little frantic as she brushed her dark brown curls back again. “In the last four years Morgana has changed her diet fifty times, I swear!” Gwen had pulled her hair up into a cute little chignon, and when they were done cooking she was planning on changing into a rather chic outfit that Gwaine had picked out for her. While it was adorable the amount of effort Gwen liked to put into treating her friends to supper, Merlin also thought it was ridiculous for a couple of friends from uni. She’d also chastised him for trying to zap-tenderize the meat—“The last time you did that the stove caught fire!”—so he was a little sullen. 

“That doesn’t mean you need a twelve course meal planned out,” Merlin told her, but he continued his work after she glared over her shoulder from where she was whipping up a sauce for the pasta dish. “You also bought just about every wine you could get your hands on.” 

“You’ve never seen the Pendragon twins drink before; it’s like seeing a camel get ready for a long trip through the desert.” Though Merlin had no doubt that Gwen was being serious, there was also a fond joking to her tone. “Look, Morgana and Arthur were pretty posh in school, and they’re both working for ridiculously big companies and traveling abroad all the time. I just don’t want them to walk in here and think my life hasn’t gone anywhere since uni, you know?” 

Merlin sighed, bringing the plate of tenderized meat to Gwen for her approval. “Gwen, you’re a brilliant chef at a four star restaurant and you’re happy with where you are. I’m sure that’s enough for them.” She blushed a little, waved the plate away, and handed Merlin the marinade that was his next step. 

“I know that, but…” Merlin could hear the shrug in her voice and he sighed in response. 

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” There was a rap on the door, and a shout through it that could only belong to Gwaine. “And I’ll get that, too,” he said, wiping his hands off with a rag and walking out of the kitchen to the front of Gwen’s flat. “Who is it?” he called through the door in a falsetto. 

“The plumber, ma’am,” Gwaine responded in a husky voice that sounded like a terrible imitation of an old movie star. “I’ve come to fix your sink.” 

“Oh we don’t need the sink fixed, wrong flat!” Merlin responded in the same high voice and he heard Gwen giggle in the kitchen. 

“Then I’m the big bad wolf and I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll—“ Merlin opened the door to a great gust of breath that smelled like chips and cheese blown in his face. “Thanks mate,” Gwaine said, grinning and jostling the brown paper bag in his arm. His hair was pulled back into a small pony tail and he was still wearing his stained work shirt and jeans. “Give this to Gwen while I go and make myself presentable, all right?” 

“Will do. Door’s unlocked by the way, so don’t make us let you in next time!” Merlin called as Gwaine turned away and headed into their flat. Gwaine flipped him the bird before disappearing inside the door, and Merlin rolled his eyes before returning to the kitchen with the package. Inside was fresh bread from the bakery next to the chip shop, which Merlin was put in charge of arranging on a bread board with olive oil and butter. 

When Gwaine joined them again he’d changed into a much more acceptable dress shirt and vest, which he insisted were far too nice to ruin with hard work, and instead grabbed himself a brew from Gwen’s fridge and settled himself on a stool at her counter, watching her finish the final touches on her magnificent meal. This was, of course, the best place for him, since he could barely make an order of chips n’ cheese without spilling half of the order down his front. 

Gwen had disappeared into her room to get changed when there was another knock on the door. “Merlin! Gwaine! Please get that, don’t keep them waiting!” she shouted frantically from her room, and since Merlin was still trying to shuffle Gwen’s appetizers onto serving plates, Gwaine announced that he was a martyr for good manners and left to answer the door. The sound of polite small talk and introductions started to approach the kitchen, and when Merlin turned he was met with the sight of two of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen in his life. 

Morgana Pendragon was tall, elegant, and positively regal with her long, wavy black hair, bright green eyes, and finely crafted red smirk. She wore clothes that looked like they came right off a French runway, and she held her head as if a crown belonged on it (Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if she announced she was the queen of some foreign land come to take over Wales). Arthur Pendragon was also tall, but muscular and fit underneath his suit (who wore a suit to dinner with a friend from uni?). He had golden blond hair, golden tan skin, and dark blue eyes that looked like the sea had sunk right into the sun’s surface. They were painfully beautiful, and they were staring at him like he was an idiot. 

“Well, since my friend seems incapable of speaking for himself, I’ll introduce him,” Gwaine said with a small laugh. “Merlin Emrys, my roommate. Merlin, this is Arthur and this is Morgana. Say hello!” Perhaps Merlin was an idiot, because instead of making some excuse for his previous silence, Merlin stared, wide-eyed, and waved. He actually picked up his hand, held it in the air, and waved. 

“Hello Merlin, lovely to meet you,” Morgana said, her tone amused for the most part. After doing his best impression of a fish, Merlin quickly wiped his hands off on a rag and held out for a shake. 

“Hi, sorry, just finishing up the food in here. Nice to meet you as well,” he said, and was saved from further small talk after shaking Arthur’s hand when Gwen came bursting in. 

“Morgana! Arthur! Oh I’m so glad you both could make it,” she said, bursting with excitement as she enveloped Morgana in a hug that looked absolutely lung-crushing. Morgana seemed just as happy to never let go, but eventually Arthur cleared his throat and awkwardly patted Gwen’s arm. She made a little noise of embarrassment and quickly went to hug him. 

“Missed you, Gwen,” he said gruffly, and Merlin realized this was the first time he’d heard the man’s voice (Gwaine and Morgana had been doing all the talking before; well, Morgana had been talking, Gwaine had been flirting). When they stopped hugging, Arthur’s eyes flicked right up at Merlin, catching him mid-stare. Everything from his collarbone up felt flushed, and Merlin was sure he was turning an unattractive blotchy red as he turned and quickly picked up a couple of plates to offer the guests. 

Morgana and Gwen chattered for most of the meal. Occasionally Gwaine would interject with a question, but that often led to a jointly told story. Arthur laughed a few times—it was a very nice laugh, one of those dignified ones that you heard at quiet events and didn’t sound very sincere—but otherwise let Morgana answer questions for him through appetizers and wine, dinner and wine, and dessert and wine. Merlin was fetching another bottle of wine (Gwen had been so right) when he heard that same throat clearing. 

“Um, Gwen and Morgana are… Can you… Got a loo?” Arthur asked, looking pained. 

“Oh, yeah, down the hall, first door on the right.” The blond head bobbed in understanding before he turned and walked out of the kitchen quickly. Merlin rubbed his arm out of habit, before collecting the new bottle and heading to the table. He popped the cork with a whispered word—a party trick that most people delighted in—and started pouring. 

“So, Merlin,” Morgana said—purred—leaning forward on her hand. “Magic? Are you trained?” 

“Trained?” he asked dumbly, sitting down beside Gwaine. 

“Yes, did you receive formal training?” 

“Er, no, not really, but I taught myself a few things out of books that my uncle had lying about. Why?” 

“Well, I’m thinking of starting my own academy. Magic is hereditary on my mother’s side, but due to unfortunate problems in the gene pool only I have the gift in my family. It’s hard making friends with the magic community with a name like Pendragon though,” she said with a shrug and a little wave of her hand. Gwaine snapped his fingers. 

“That’s where I’ve seen you before. In the news; your father is—“ 

“Uther Pendragon, yes,” Arthur said sitting down heavily beside his sister. 

“Wait wait, Uther Pendragon, who supports the anti-magic side?” Merlin asked incredulously, staring between Arthur and Morgana. “With a magical daughter?” 

“Irony at its finest,” Morgana responded with a wry smirk. “He donates thousands of dollars to them, pays for my expensive fashion habits, and calls it even. But that’s all beside the point, and if you ever find yourself in want of a job please, feel free to ring me.” 

Morgana looked over at her brother, and they had what looked to Merlin like a tense staring match before Morgana turned back to the table with a pleasant smile and a change of topic. She’d already interrogated Gwen about her own life, now she wanted Gwaine and Merlin to tell her everything Gwen refused to talk about. 

“Oh, Lance!” Merlin said, snapping his fingers and grinning at Gwen, who blushed prettily and took a quick gulp of her wine. “There’s this bloke, waits at her restaurant—“

“Dashing lad,” Gwaine interjected, though his eyes hadn’t left Morgana all night.

“Yes, yes, gorgeous, great arse, but also very charming,” Merlin explained. “He’s definitely got an eye on Gwen. I come in sometimes to bring her some chips if she’s hungry and doesn’t want to eat whatever’s been sent back, and he always asks me questions. What does she like to do, what are her favorite flowers—“ 

“You’re making that one up!” Gwen insisted sternly and Merlin held his hands up in surrender. 

“All right there’s been no talk of flowers, but if I get interrupted one more time this description will go on a lot longer,” he teased, and Gwen frowned, but leaned back in her chair with her glass and gave him the floor again. “Anyways, I swear he’s just an inch from asking her out and what do you know, she goes and messes it all up by having plans with Gwaine! He totally thinks she and Gwaine are a thing now.”

“I’ve offered to set him right,” Gwaine said helpfully once Merlin indicated that he was done. “But Gwen here really honestly believes that he’s not been hitting on her since he started working there, six months ago.” 

“Gwen, darling,” Morgana said with an enthusiastic laugh. “Why don’t you ask him? I can see it, you like him.” 

“It’s not traditional,” Gwen protested lamely. “Arthur, you’re on my side aren’t you?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at the, for the most part, stoic Pendragon. 

Merlin watched as Arthur struggled to come up with a response, before nodding and reaching for his glass again. He’d rolled up his nice dress shirt, and Merlin got a glimpse of the writing on the underside of his wrist as he reached for the glass. Merlin quickly averted his eyes, back to where Morgana and Gwaine were teasing Gwen about her beau. It was impolite to ask about someone’s words unless you were close, considering how personal and sometimes tragic they were. 

When Morgana finally announced that she and her brother had to be going, Gwen protested for only a few moments before allowing them to grab their coats and shuffle out of the flat. Gwen hugged them both, and Merlin watched as—after Gwaine attempted to get more than just a handshake from Morgana—Arthur bent down to say something in Gwen’s ear. She smiled at him, kissed him on the cheek, and ushered him out so she could have one more goodbye with Morgana. Arthur didn’t take his eyes off Gwen, not until he and Morgana were turning out the door, and then the door was closed. 

“That was nice, I like them,” Gwaine announced, rolling backwards over the couch to sit on it. “We should have them over again.” 

“Not sure if we could afford the liquor store they would require,” Merlin joked, hoisting the bag full of wine bottles and food scraps out of the rubbish bin. “Arthur seems to have a bit of a thing for you, Gwen,” he said, ignoring her spluttering as he moved into the hallway to take the trash out. When he returned he was immediately assaulted with Gwen’s protests. 

“I just don’t see how you got that impression,” she finally said, crossing her arms and blowing a curl out of her face. “Arthur and I are barely friends. He had his own crowd in uni, and I only saw him because of Morgana.” 

“Oh come on Gwen. If that was the case, why would he even come in the first place? He barely spoke, and not at all to Gwaine or I. He got super weird when we brought up Lance, and what was that whole thing at the door hmm?” he said, sliding forward and nudging Gwen’s shoulder with his own before heading into the kitchen to start on the dishes. 

“No! Merlin, he was just telling me it was a lovely time. Arthur is kind of the strong, silent type, at least he is with people he doesn’t hang out with often.” 

“Or he’s like that because of you,” Gwaine helpfully chimed in from the living room, and Merlin grinned widely.

“Wow, look at you Gwen. First Lance, now Arthur. You’re a regular man killer, huh?” Gwen was flushed again, but she just pouted and reached for a rag to help dry the dishes with. 

“The moment someone gets around to asking me out, then maybe I’ll think you’re right. Until then, Merlin, you’ve got no room to talk.” Merlin rolled his eyes, even as Gwen started in on him about the parade of blokes that had gone through the chip shop, and how between him and Gwaine, there would eventually never be another customer again because the entire city would be unable to eat there once they were done with their fun. 

“I’m not nearly as bad as Gwaine! He’s got miles ahead of me,” Merlin protested weakly. “Plus, he takes the birds and the blokes, I’ve only gone for the one.” 

“A fair assessment,” Gwaine admitted from the counter. “Although, I think those days are behind me. I think I might be in love with Morgana.” 

“Don’t go confusing love for lust just yet, Gwaine,” Merlin said, patting Gwaine on his shoulder, right above where his words were hidden. Gwaine had shown him, once, when they were drinking. His were No, you haven’t. It was a slightly better set than Merlin’s, since they weren’t so generic, but they were still not as obvious. That was the most terrifying part of having ‘thank you’ written on his arm: anyone could be his soul mate, thank him, and proceed to die and Merlin would only know because the words would start fading. 

“I’m not! I really think I like her,” Gwaine insisted, crossing his arms across his chest. “Plus, you know I’ve got a thing for magic users. That’s the whole reason I got you your job in the first place!” Merlin rolled his eyes, as he always did when Gwaine brought it up that he’d been looking to hit on Merlin the first time they met. “Gwen, if there’s anything you can say to Morgana to get her to agree to go out with me…” 

“I’ll do my best Gwaine, but Morgana was always a popular lady,” she teased, leaning her elbows on the counter once all the dishes were dried. “And now, I’m a tired woman who wants her two best friends to sleep tight and not bother her in the morning, all right?” She kissed Merlin on the cheek when he hugged her, and then Gwaine, but she was insistent on pushing them out and soon they were back in their own flat. 

“Well, if things work out with Morgana, maybe you’ll see a lot more of that peachy arse belonging to her brother,” Gwaine said with a wink, heading to his own room. “He’s just your type.”

And as much as Merlin wished that weren’t true, he couldn’t help but think about Arthur Pendragon as he tried to muster up the energy to do more than toe off his shoes. He really hadn’t said much, and all that Merlin knew about him was what Gwen had supplied him with before the dinner. Arthur had been a business student, like Morgana. He’d been on some sort of rugby team and mostly hung out with his friends from there, though he always had time for his sister. Morgana had discovered her powers in her first year, and Arthur had supported her when their father apparently had a meltdown about the whole thing. 

Gwen didn’t know much about Arthur herself, except that now he was working for his father’s company—a very intense marketing firm—and that he and Morgana were much closer now that they were older. But Arthur was gorgeous, and the fact that Gwen knew little to nothing about him made him even more mysterious. 

Merlin groaned into his pillow, rolled over, and managed to convince his pants to slide off his body and onto the ground while he thought to himself that Arthur really did seem smitten with Gwen. It was pretty standard, at least according to the movies, that the sibling’s best friend was desirable. Gwen was a pretty girl, and so sweet, it made sense. Any man—well any man not strictly attracted to other men—would think she was a catch. 

Whatever. It’s not my problem, and I’ll probably never see Arthur Pendragon again in my life. 

\--------------

Merlin was on his last hour of his shift. It was four in the morning. He and the chef were the only two there, and the cook was practically asleep on his stool. And Arthur Pendragon walked in the front door, wearing jeans that looked like they were more expensive than Merlin’s rent for a year and a sweater that absolutely had to be cashmere. 

“What are you doing here?” he said, too sleepy to realize that Arthur was also a potential paying customer. And was standing at the counter, now, with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. 

“Well, I thought I’d get some chips on my way home, but if this isn’t the sort of place where you can get that…” He was smirking. Arthur Pendragon, a beautiful man, was smirking at Merlin from across his counter. 

“Uh, right. Well. What size?” he asked, hurriedly standing straight and pulling his pad over. 

“Medium, please. And gravy also,” Arthur responded, pulling a wallet. A leather wallet that Merlin could freaking smell from the register. He stopped. He was staring. Merlin looked up quickly, dazed. “How much?” Arthur asked in a tone that implied he was asking for the second or third time. 

“Oh, yeah, um, price is on the menu,” Merlin said, squeezing his eyes together and pointing towards the sign behind him. He was too damn tired, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember how much a bottle of water was, much less an actual order of chips. He thought he heard Arthur make a snort of derision, and then he was making change and handing the order slip to the cook. 

“So. What brought you here, of all places?” Merlin asked, jiggling his foot up and down while he waited for the cook to get the chips ready. 

“Gwen mentioned it,” Arthur said, looking down at his hands. Of course his nails were neat and perfectly filed. He was practically a bazillionaire, he probably got manicures regularly. 

“Ah. Well. You made the best chip decision you could have my friend!” Merlin said, trying to joke. But the word friend appeared to irritate Arthur, so he turned and motioned for the cook to hurry it up and finish the chips. “You know, Gwen really enjoyed seeing you two the other night. Don’t disappear too fast, all right? She’d love to be able to hang out with you.” This seemed to brighten Arthur up, since he smiled and nodded. 

“Yeah, I think we’re going to stick around a little longer. Morgana’s had her fun, now it’s time to get down to business and be adults. Which includes having adult friends, after all.” Merlin snickered a little. “What’s funny?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Just that… Adult friends sounds sexual, not like, oh we’re adults with friends who are adults…” Merlin trailed off at the obviously disapproving face that Arthur was giving him. 

“Order’s up!” the cook said gruffly, and Merlin quickly reached behind him to grab the Styrofoam container with Arthur’s greasy concoction. 

“Here you go, have a nice morning? Day? Whatever?” Merlin said, handing over the container. 

“Thanks,” Arthur responded flatly, taking the chips and immediately turning and walking out of the store. Merlin sighed and sank down against the counter, hanging his head. He had been an utter idiot, and a tired one, and the annoying thing was that he was pretty sure Arthur was just being nice because of Gwen. After all, he hadn’t really spoken aside from ordering until Gwen became the topic of conversation. So Merlin mentally put it aside that he would have to tease Gwen later that the hottest man this side of the world had a dweeby crush on her. 

\--------------

A few weeks later, Merlin had been able to dodge as many get togethers with the Pendragon twins as there had been. First it was drinks—Merlin had to work—then it was lunch—Merlin had to sleep—then it was dinner—Merlin had to work again. Gwaine was just as busy, too, but Gwen insisted that Merlin needed to try harder. “Morgana adores you, and Arthur will grow on you. Please, Merlin?” Gwen asked, pouting with her big brown eyes wide open. “If you don’t, it’ll just be the three of us and Gwaine.”

So that was why Merlin was sitting in a hotel bar. It wasn’t very expensive, but Merlin had resented getting dressed up enough to go to such a fancy spot. He and Gwaine were joking and chatting in their usual manner while Gwen got a drink from the bar. “Ah! The Elusive Emrys come to join us for once!” Morgana was towering over them, her hair slicked back into a ridiculously tight ponytail and wearing an equally tight silver dress. 

“I didn’t realize I had a special nickname,” Merlin said, eyebrows shooting up as he and Gwaine squeezed in to allow Morgana, and inevitably Arthur, space to sit. Morgana sat delicately next to Gwaine, who looked like a very pampered puppy. “Where’s your brother?” 

“Helping Gwen with the drinks,” Morgana responded with a wave of her hand. “We have another addition tonight.” 

“Oh? Who?” Merlin asked, running his thumb through the sweat of his pint. 

“Lance. I found him, waiting tables at Gwen’s restaurant, and invited him out tonight. Gwen has no idea,” Morgana said, grinning in a way that made Merlin wonder if they were actually all slaves sitting at the toe of her very expensive heels. They probably were. 

“Has no idea of what?” Gwen asked, sitting down beside Morgana and placing a glass of deep red wine in front her. Arthur cleared his throat, then sat down beside Merlin, keeping his arms in and his elbows tight to his side, even as he brought his glass of whiskey to his lips. 

“That we’re having a guest. Here he comes now!” Morgana said, grinning again and waving her wrist in the air to beckon the poor guy over. Lance, whom Merlin had only met a couple of times, looked a lot better in a white button down that wasn’t tucked into black slacks and accessorized with an apron. Instead, he wore the shirt loose over a pair of jeans and he was carrying a small bouquet of pretty purple flowers.  
“Hi Gwen,” Lance said, pulling up a seat and awkwardly trying to hand the bouquet to Gwen, who was trying not to blush while also side-eying Morgana. “I’m really glad your, uh, friend invited me.” 

“She’s ecstatic to see you, too, Lance, and those are some beautiful flowers. Aren’t they Gwen?” 

“Yes, so nice,” Gwen said, and she even managed to sound sincere. Merlin laughed quietly to Gwaine, and caught Arthur glaring at them before turning and politely making small talk with Gwen and Lance to get them started. Eventually, conversation moved to the rest of the table, and they were suddenly in the midst of a rousing debate over whether DC or Marvel movies were better, because they may all have been adults, but they weren’t all very good adults. 

“Bull. Shit.” Merlin said pointedly, jabbing his finger into Gwaine’s chest with each word before taking a quick sip of his beer. “Good casting is not the secret. Choosing different characters is the secret. Nobody wants to watch the same two character duke it out over and over again.” 

“Then why are the Batman movies still popular as hell?” Gwaine responded, though there was less heart and more slur in the answer, which led to the table laughing his argument down. 

“Well, I think we have a winner,” Morgana announced, gesturing to Merlin. “All those who voted for Marvel in the first round of this debate, congratulations. We’re the winners. Should we celebrate this?” 

“I’m not sure any of our livers can keep up with yours sis,” Arthur said groggily, and Merlin tried to remember how much he’d had to drink, before deciding that it was Too Much no matter what the number was. 

“Speaking of, I think I should call it a night,” Lance said from his end of the table, smiling over at Gwen. They were totally holding hands underneath the table, Merlin just knew it. He knew it, he knew it. He was also incredibly drunk. Maybe ridiculously so, since Gwen and Lance looked all right. In a blur of movement and laughter, Merlin found that he was now standing outside of the hotel, on pavement. His feet were firmly planted (or at least he hoped they were) as he, Gwaine, Morgana, and Arthur waited for a cab. Or a car? Were they posh enough to have cars coming to pick them up? 

Merlin thought about asking Gwaine, but Gwaine was leaning against the wall of the building, obviously trying to chat up Morgana, who was either smirking at his idiocy or smiling at him like he was a child, Merlin wasn’t sure because her face kept going out of focus. “So,” he said, turning around towards Arthur, much faster than he should have, since he then found his hands on Arthur’s shoulders for support, and Arthur holding his arms up. “Oops!” he laughed, taking a step back and letting his hands swing down to his sides. Arthur pulled one hand back, but left the other on Merlin’s shoulder with a wary expression. 

“All right there?” he asked gruffly, and Merlin wondered—not for the first time—if Arthur was dis… dis… disgusted? No, but that was the only word that Merlin could think of that started with a dis... Anyways, Arthur looked disgusted, not for the first time that day, and Merlin was wondering what the hell the pompous ass though of himself to be disgusted with Merlin’s drunken ways. He hadn’t puked yet, had he? (Wait, had he?) 

“Oh, yeah, all right,” Merlin responded, when Arthur prompted him to say something. “Naw ‘bout to be sick, promise.” He was starting to become aware of just how ridiculous he was sounding and ugh he was going to hate that in the morning. But those thoughts waved out of his mind when the two sleek town cars pulled up, and Merlin was gaping like a fish at them. “Those yours?” he asked, head swinging around in shock. 

But Arthur was talking to his sister, his brow furrowed. “…waste of time!” 

“Arthur, do you really think just putting them both in the back of a car and sending them home is a good idea? Look at him, for god’s sake, swaying from side to side. You take Merlin home, I take Gwaine home, and then we both go our merry ways from there, deal?” 

Merlin didn’t catch Arthur’s next protest, but clearly nothing stood against Morgana’s logic, since the next thing he knew he was sitting in the back of the town car, his shoulder pressed into Arthur’s. There was room, he knew, to move away, but he wasn’t sure he could keep himself upright anymore, so leaning on Arthur it was! They were the ones who wanted to hang out with Gwen and Co. anyways, so they would have to be leaned on when needed. Yes. That was requirement number one for hanging out with Gwen and Co. 

“Merlin I’m going to need an address. ‘Home Jeeves’ is not an address.” Merlin snickered to himself, thinking that was a fantastic joke after all. “Merlin if you don’t give me an address in the next two minutes I’m just tossing you in a Dumpster on the way to mine,” Arthur said angrily, and Merlin raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. That didn’t sound very helpful and Merlin was sure that Morgana would never approve of tossing her brand new best friend into a Dumpster. “Just head back to my place, please,” Arthur said in an exasperated voice that sounded higher up than Merlin remembered. 

Merlin then found himself sliding down Arthur’s side, and Arthur glaring down at him. “Sorry. Gravity,” Merlin said, grinning as wide as he good before his ear caught on Arthur’s coat, and he jerked his head up in pain. 

“Maybe you should try sitting in your own spot, then,” Arthur told him, and Merlin was sure he sounded smug. 

“What’s your problem with me?” Merlin asked, sitting up straight and trying his hardest to meet Arthur’s eye. He may have called up a little magic to sober himself enough to confront the guy being a prat to his left. 

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Arthur responded with a heaving sigh that a martyr would have been jealous of. Merlin very much didn’t believe him (though he couldn’t remember his reasons why) and just settled against the back seat of the car. He may or may not have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew happened was that Arthur was helping him crawl under the covers of what had to be the biggest bed he’d ever seen, reassuring him that yes he was tired, no he was not going to be sick, and no he did not have to get naked. 

\--------------

Merlin woke to one of the worst hangovers of his life, including the one he’d thrown himself into when his ex had broken up with him and left saying “thank you,” right afterwards (that had been perhaps the cruelest thing about that relationship). He rubbed his forehead and came to his senses before opening his eyes and blinking around the dimly lit room. There were thick curtains over the windows, so the light couldn’t bother him much.

But this wasn’t Merlin’s shitty flat, and he couldn’t hear everything Gwaine did in the kitchen. “Shit,” he muttered, sitting up. He was fully dressed—well, his shoes were on the ground beside the bed—and there was no sign of a partner in bed… 

There was a knock on the door. Merlin scrambled out of the bed, wincing in regret as his muscles reminded him that they were uncomfortable. He managed to get the door open and found himself face to face with the one, the only, Arthur Pendragon. “Up I see,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I made some breakfast. Eggs all right?” 

“Yes?” 

“Good. Kitchen this way.” Merlin followed Arthur, completely and totally confused (and definitely not distracted by the guy’s arse in sweatpants). 

“So, um, what happened last night? I vaguely remember Gwen and Lance in their adorable corner, but…” 

“You and Gwaine were completely sloshed so Morgana and I tried to get you both home. Unfortunately, you couldn’t remember where you lived and I couldn’t remember Gwen’s address, so you ended up here. You can thank me later, when you get that pained look off your face.” 

“That’s awfully assuming,” Merlin said with a snort, even as he settled onto a bar stool and watched Arthur take a spatula to a couple of omelets in a pan that was still sizzling. 

“I dragged your drunk ass out of a bar and into a bed, rather than leaving you in a gutter. I think that’s worth a little thanking, don’t you?” Merlin thought about sticking his tongue out, but the smell of the omelet hit him and he found himself digging in to find it full of nice, gooey cheese, spiced sausage, and tomato. 

“Oh my god,” he moaned around a mouthful, earning a look of disgust from Arthur that he ignored. “This is actually orgasmic, what the hell? Are you a chef? No, you work for a fancy company, how the fuck did you find the time to learn to cook this?” 

“It’s not hard,” Arthur said, but he looked a little flattered. “Drunk food is the easiest to learn, because you end up accidentally making it.” 

“It’s a magical hangover cure,” Merlin said, putting another huge chunk of egg into his mouth and closing his eyes happily. It’s magical, and that’s coming from someone who can magic a hangover away, he thought. Which he’d been slowly doing (his magic always took a minute to wake up after a night that intense). 

“So, you’re welcome,” Arthur pressed, and Merlin ignored him for the moment. “I said, you’re welcome,” he repeated. 

“Yeah, I heard you.” 

“It’s only polite to thank someone this generous,” Arthur responded with enough sarcasm to make a nun roll her eyes. 

“Well, it’s also polite to ignore the strange little quirks of a basic stranger,” Merlin said in a warning tone. “After all, you never know what will be the last straw of that stranger before they pick up that nice sharp kitchen knife covered in onion bits and threaten you with it.” He glanced over at Arthur, who looked miffed, but he didn’t get a response so he assumed he was free to continue devouring the deliciousness on his plate. 

“They’re your words, aren’t they?” he finally asked after the sound of chewing began to subside. 

“Yeah, they are,” Merlin said softly, putting down the piece of toast he’d been using to mop up cheese and egg from his plate and tilting his head so he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry. I’m not totally myself right now, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously. But if they’re your words, then you should have no problem saying them,” Arthur said, holding his hands up in a shrugging motion. 

“Rude, first of all,” Merlin retorted. “Second of all, I’m usually quite capable of telling people ‘thank you,’ but you are an enormous prat and this hangover is a little rough so maybe I’m being a little rude.” He took another stubborn bite of his eggs before swallowing and turning his head away from Arthur. “So, yeah, I suppose I should thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Arthur responded, and his tone sounded almost sympathetic. “If it makes you feel any better, my words suck too.” 

“Oh?” Merlin asked, as he stared mournfully at his now empty plate. “How much do they suck?” There was the clattering of a plate, and suddenly a quarter of an omelet ended up on his plate. He glanced up to see that Arthur was also offering his wrist. 

“Arthur,” was written on his wrist. Merlin’s heart sank into his stomach. He’d been complaining so much about his own words, such a common phrase, but here this poor sap was with his own goddamn name as the last word his soulmate would ever say to him. 

“Wow. That’s… That’s awful.” 

“It’s my patented excuse for being a grumpy arse all the time,” Arthur said with a nonchalant shrug. “I suppose it could be worse, but it does suck.” He sighed and leaned over the island to put his plate into the sink. Merlin very much did not stare at the part of his lower back exposed because Arthur was very much not looking rather fit now that his hangover was clearing a little. “I think we should start over,” he said, settling back onto his stool facing Merlin. 

“Why’s that?” 

“I wasn’t incredibly thrilled about meeting you, to be honest. Gwen’s a good friend and when she mentioned she lives across the hall from two guys, I may have been a bit protective.” Arthur held out his hand. “Her brother, Elyan, is also my mate so I like to think of her as another sister. Not that I even wanted the one I’ve got, but I digress.” 

“Nothing to worry about there, mate. Gwaine and I are the same way. Gwen’s good like that; she makes everybody feel like family. But, to be honest, I thought you were in love with her or something.” 

Arthur laughed, actually physically shook with laughter, then slapped his hand down on the counter before catching his breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean… I mean… Obviously you wouldn’t know, not being a close friend of mine, but I’m not exactly into women, so the idea of being in love with Gwen…” He chuckled again and shook his head. “No. Definitely not.” 

“Oh,” Merlin said quietly, taking in Arthur in a new light. “Yeah, gotcha.” Arthur sighed through his nose. 

“Are you going to be all weird now because I like blokes? Because if so, this whole starting over thing is probably a waste of time.” 

“No, no, that’s not a problem!” Merlin rushed to say. “I’m right there with you, I just didn’t have you pegged.” Arthur raised his eyebrow at Merlin, but there was absolutely nothing that he could think to say that would make the situation any less awkward. 

“Why didn’t you ‘have me pegged’ as you so eloquently put it?” Arthur asked, sounding far too amused about the fact that now Merlin was a flustered mess. 

“Well, er, you’ve got that whole Prince Charming thing going? Golden locks, blue eyes, fit as a fiddle, too gorgeous for words, and plus your manners, though I’m sure that’s an upbringing thing—“ 

“Too gorgeous for words?” Arthur repeated with a smirk. “Did you just compliment me Merlin Emrys?” 

“You were the one who wanted to know why I thought you were straight,” Merlin said flailing his wrists and looking around for anything that might inspire a new conversation. “I guess I’m just not used to the guys I find attractive being, you know. Back in Ealdor they were all looking to prove how masculine they were, and no matter what the pretty ones were never interested in cock or whatever—their words not mine.” 

“So you find me attractive,” Arthur stated, and Merlin wondered if it was his imagination that Arthur’s seat seemed to be closer to his.

“Is that all you’re getting out this conversation? Are you some kind of narcissist, because I’m sure that you get told how attractive you are all the time.” 

“I do,” Arthur admitted with an arrogant grin. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy hearing it one more time.” Merlin gaped at him. Either he was being hit on, or Arthur had some serious psychological issues he needed to get worked out immediately. “So? Aren’t you going to slip into your rambling another compliment?” 

“You are an utter dollop…head,” Merlin retorted lamely, putting his hand on the counter and leaning forward towards Arthur. “You’re fishing right now. You used your patented excuse to soften me up, got me all flustered by saying you were gay, and now you’re trying to hear from me that I’d like nothing more than to snog you and fuck you on your leather couch because you need validation.” 

“I also wouldn’t mind if the snog and fuck followed the offer,” Arthur responded, and Merlin was left thinking ‘the cheeky bastard’ before he registered that he was grabbing the collar of Arthur’s shirt. It was like a reflex, and the only thing Merlin could think to do as he stared wide-eyed and Arthur’s ridiculously smug face was to pull the man in and kiss the living daylights out of him. 

Of course, he didn’t so much succeed as allow Arthur the chance to ravage him, hands all over the place and clothes dropping to the floor in a minute, while they were still at the counter on stools. Merlin wasn’t even sure how Arthur had managed to unbutton his shirt and get it off with only one hand because he was certain that the other hand had been weaved into his hair the whole time. Eventually, Merlin felt Arthur tugging on the back of his head, and then there was blond hair tickling the underside of his chin while Arthur began a descent of open mouthed kisses from his neck to the waist band of his jeans. 

“Shit,” he groaned, already hard. 

“Eager are we?” Arthur teased, pressing his palm against the top of his jeans. 

“You wanker, like you didn’t lure me in like an angler fish.” 

“Are you really comparing the man on his knees before you to an angler fish?” Merlin searched for a good response to that, but was at a loss when Arthur stood in front of him, pulled his own shirt off, and tilted his head towards the sofa. Merlin didn’t need to be offered twice to scramble away from the stools and all the catastrophes they could lead to. He was just reaching the couch, with the intention of walking around and sitting on it (he had a plan for a come hither sort of look that would either be sexy or ridiculous) when a firm hand ran over his arse and up his back, pushing him over the back of the couch. 

“He—“ Merlin started to protest, but he moaned over the rest of his sentence when he felt Arthur’s cock pressed into his ass and a pair of lips ghosting over his shoulder. Then there were hands dipping into Merlin’s jeans, one in front palming his cock over his pants and the other in back massaging his ass. 

“God am I glad I got to bring you home last night,” Arthur said in a husky whisper in Merlin’s ear. 

“Planning this all along then?” Merlin managed to ask breathily. 

“Why do you think Morgana kept begging Gwen to hang out with you?” 

“You let your sister pimp you out?” Instead of a witty comeback, Arthur gently squeezed Merlin’s cock and that was the end of conversation. Eventually, Merlin managed to turn around, running his hands up and down Arthur’s chest and enjoying those absolutely sinful muscles he’d imagined would be there. He forced Arthur’s hand out of his jeans and started trailing kisses down the planes of his stomach, hooking his thumbs into the sweatpants that hung on his hips and shucking them down. 

“Christ,” Merlin whispered, before leaning forward and kissing the tip of Arthur’s dick. He heard Arthur take in a quick breath, but just continued to lick his way up, until he had taken the entire thing into his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked hard, grinning in a lopsided, not-quite-a-smile way when he heard Arthur groan loudly. When Arthur started thrusting his hips, though, fucking into Merlin’s mouth, he gagged and pulled away, narrowing his eyes up at Arthur. 

“Sorry, got carried away,” Arthur said, panting through the sentence and reaching for Merlin, pulling him up and driving forward to kiss him again. There was a disgusting amount of tongue involved, but Merlin found himself unable to care since Arthur was also grinding their hips together while forcing Merlin’s jeans and pants down his thighs. 

“God, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, moving his mouth to Merlin’s neck and skating down until he was sucking on his collarbone. He finally managed to win against the jeans and pants, which pooled around Merlin’s ankles. “Reach into the couch cushion,” Arthur said, pulling away and looking at Merlin with those deep, blue eyes. Merlin complied, leaning back and shoving his hand between the couch cushions, finding a sticky bottle that he pulled out to look at curiously. 

“Why do you keep lube in your couch cushions?” Merlin demanded, but instead of a response Arthur just snatched the bottle, flipped the cap, and poured some in his palm. Merlin was going to press the question, he really was, but he stopped before the words could even get out of his mouth Arthur was grabbing his cock again, rubbing lube on it, and then on his own. 

Merlin got where it was going, and stepped forward to kiss Arthur, who was wrapping one hand around both of their cocks. Merlin buried his fingers into the blond locks, kissing Arthur furiously, while Arthur groaned into his mouth and began to move his hand up and down their cocks, squeezing them together at the end of each pump. Maybe it was because it had been a while since he’d had a good shag, or because Arthur was ridiculously talented, but either way, it seemed to only take seconds before warmth was sweeping through his body, making his toes curl into the carpet while he came into Arthur’s hand, which was still moving and squeezing and pulling.

It became too much for Merlin, who leaned heavily against the couch and tilted his head back, moaning over and over while Arthur continued to move his hand, until finally Arthur thrust against Merlin’s limp cock and came as well. Arthur leaned his empty hand against the back of the couch, looming over Merlin and finally letting go of them both. 

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, both catching their breath, until Arthur pushed himself up from the back of the couch and reaching down for his sweats. “Do you need a ride back to your flat?” he asked, looking down nervously. 

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to ask?” 

“Well, I’m not good at this so I figured the awkward silence would encourage an escape.” Merlin rolled his eyes and looked around, spying a box of tissue on the table beside the couch. He reached for it, pulling out a wad and handing half of the tissues to Arthur. 

“At least let me clean up a bit before kicking me out of your place, huh?” Merlin asked, shaking his head and furiously beginning to wipe himself off. “You know, I’m as bad as the next guy about calling after a one night stand, but a quickie in the morning and then unceremoniously kicking someone out? That’s just plain rude.” 

“I’m sorry, I just,” Arthur flailed his hands as he pulled on his clothes, having cleaned up already. “I’m not good at any part of this, I said that. You know how it is, having the shitty words on your skin and waiting for the moment they fuck you over.” 

“Are you going to try to pull an angst card with me?” Merlin asked, laughing and pulling up his underwear and jeans, looking around for where Arthur had left his shirt. “Seriously?” 

“You understand, though, having the shit words right?” 

“I get it, I hate the fact that at any time my soul mate could casually thank me for something and then die while I have no clue until the words fade away. But that’s no reason to be an utter prick to me right now.” 

“You’re right,” Arthur said, sounding sufficiently frustrated. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, you didn’t really give me a chance though. You’re the one chewing me out after one misspoken sentence.” Merlin brushed past him to get his shirt off the floor by the stools, and when he turned Arthur was holding his hand out. “Truce?” 

“Truce,” Merlin said, sighing and shaking his hand. “Now can you drive me home? I have to work later this afternoon and I’d rather not go in wearing last night’s clothes and smelling like a hangover and a hand job.” 

\--------------

Gwaine hadn’t been home when Merlin was dropped off by Arthur—whose phone number was printed on a card in his pocket—but he was still at the chip shop an hour after his shift had ended, which was when Merlin’s started. Merlin ignored Gwaine, sitting at a front table, and started to get to work cleaning in the back. “Oi! You! You didn’t come home last night,” Gwaine finally announced, leaning on the customer side of the counter and grinning at Merlin. Luckily, it was just them and their coworker Elena in the shop, or else Merlin would have taken a shot at magically removing Gwaine’s vocal chords out of embarrassment. 

“No, I didn’t. Thank you for stating a fact,” Merlin responded, tossing the dirty rag at Gwaine’s face and turning away, ignoring Elena’s snickers. He took some satisfaction though in looking back at Gwaine’s face for a second and seeing the yellow smear of cheese on his cheek. Gwaine would have some trouble rubbing that one off, and Merlin stretched his fingers, feeling the magic humming in them still. 

“You got yourself a slice of that golden pound cake, huh?” Gwaine said in a taunting voice. “You slept with him and you liked it.” Merlin turned just slightly to flip him the bird, before going back to organizing the Styrofoam containers for takeout orders. “Oh you did! Are we going to be seeing Mr. Prince of Peachy Arses around the building some more?” 

Merlin turned back to face Gwaine and Elena and shrugged. “I don’t know, Gwaine. You know how I am. I can’t keep them around for longer than a month. But… I don’t know, Arthur kinda gets that. He has a similar problem.” 

“Oh is his problem a small—“ Gwaine was cut off when his phone started to ring in his pocket, and he pulled it out, answering it. “Yello,” he said into it while Elena and Merlin started to get back to work. “Yeah, I’m at the shop, why?” Merlin glanced over and Gwaine waved him over, a puzzled expression on his face. “It’s Gwen. Couldn’t reach your cell, she wants to talk to you,” he said, holding out the phone. 

“Gwen? Everything okay?” Merlin asked. 

“Oh, Merlin,” she responded, sounding almost like she was crying. “I have terrible news. I just got a call from your mum, she was trying to reach you all night.” 

“My phone was dead,” Merlin said, puzzled. He’d left his cell in his flat, plugged in, with the card with Arthur’s number on it right beside the charger. 

“Merlin, it’s about your mate, Will. He was in a car accident, and your mum said… She said he was in bad condition. She wants you to come home.” 

Merlin didn’t explain to Elena why he needed her to cover for him, just said he’d sort things out with their boss later. Gwaine had taken the phone back after Merlin nearly dropped it on the counter, and he was sure that Gwen had explained the whole thing. Merlin certainly didn’t, he just went back to his flat and immediately started throwing clothes into his duffle and calling the train station to find out when the next train out to Ealdor would leave. He was on the train, huddled into the corner and watching the landscape go by before he realized he’d left his phone charging in his room again. 

His mum was waiting at the Ealdor station and she enveloped him in a warm hug, smoothing the hair on the back of his neck down the way she did when he was a boy and scraped and bruised himself up. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, but Merlin just hugged her tighter, fighting the lump in his throat. 

They drove straight to the hospital, Hunith trying to make small talk while Merlin pressed his forehead to the glass of the window and tried to keep breathing. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t happening, because it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t imagine Will being in as much trouble as they were telling him he was. When they got to the hospital, Merlin was still sure he was dreaming. He snapped out of it when they were escorted to Will’s room by a doctor. 

Will was hooked up to far too many machines, which were all bleeping and flashing at Merlin when they entered. There was a tube coming out of his mouth, and his swollen eyes were closed. There were cuts and bruises all over every bit of skin Merlin could see, indicating all the damage the car wreck had done to him. 

Merlin sank into the chair beside Will and put his hand on his best friend’s arm. “The doctors don’t know if he’ll wake up,” Hunith said quietly, standing behind Merlin. “He’s in a coma for now.” 

“I could help,” Merlin whispered, running his fingers over a dark, mottled bruise on Will’s arm. “I could heal him a little, enough to save his life.” He could already feel the magic humming up in his skin, but it was dull, quiet. Not a comforting sign. 

“Darling, I’m not sure if that would help. It might make things worse,” Hunith said, but Merlin was already reaching out with his magic. He shut his eyes and tried to think of what Will’s presence in his life was like, that constant warmth and sunshine he provided. But there was no warmth in this body. Merlin could feel people’s life forces if he tried. He could coax tendrils of his magic to curl around them, to let him know what a person was really like. He only did it once he started to really care about people. He knew his mother’s, Gwen’s, Gwaine’s, and of course Will’s. 

Will wasn’t there anymore. The breath in his chest was created by a machine. The pumps of his tired heart were forced on him, and Merlin choked on a sob as he realized this. He jerked up from the seat and turned to his mother, pulling her into another hug. “Why?” he whispered into her shoulder. “Why did this happen?” 

“It was an accident,” Hunith responded, her tears wet against Merlin’s hair while Merlin’s soaked her shoulder. “It was an accident, and there was no way you could have stopped it.” Merlin’s magic shrank back from under his skin, burrowing within himself the way he wished he could burrow into the earth. He wanted to hide until everything got better. 

They went back to their house, and sat sipping coffee mixed with brandy while they waited by the phone. The doctors had said that Will probably only had days left, and the visitation times were limited, so they’d agreed to give most of the time to his parents. The next morning, while Merlin sat on the couch staring numbly out the window, he heard a knock on the door. His mum had gone to bed only a few hours before, having tried to stay up and convince Merlin to eat or sleep. 

Whoever was at the door knocked persistently until Merlin dragged himself up off the couch and to the front. When it had swung open he blinked blearily at the sight before him. Gwen was standing there, all messy curls and concerned eyes, holding what appeared to be a casserole. Behind her were the Pendragon twins, both looking more than a little uncomfortable to be there and also sympathetic. 

“Merlin, we wanted to see if there was anything we could do,” Gwen said, holding out the casserole. 

“Come in?” he said tentatively, taking the dish and moving aside to allow them in. Gwen and Morgana came in first, but Arthur lingered, looking over Merlin warily as if he were afraid he wasn’t welcome. 

“You’re not okay,” Arthur stated, pursing his lips. They looked a little puffy, as if he’d been biting them a lot. 

“Not one bit, thanks for noticing,” Merlin responded cheekily, shutting the door and then heading into the kitchen to put the casserole away. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he called over his shoulder to Gwen and Morgana. Arthur doggedly followed him, though. 

“I know it’s probably not really mine, or Morgana’s place, to be here but—“ 

“Yeah, it’s not your place,” Merlin responded, shoving aside some old leftovers to make room for the casserole dish. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the fridge after shutting it. He knew he was acting like a total prick, he definitely knew that. But he also knew that as soon as he’d seen Arthur all he could remember was hooking up with him, and he felt immensely guilty thinking about that sort of pleasure while Will… 

One image of Arthur’s head tilted back, neck taut and lips parted in a moan came into his mind, followed immediately by Will’s greasy brown hair stuck to his forehead, eyes closed and still while tubes pumped air and food into him and machines bleeped wearily to indicate his continued life. It was like each image was burned into one of Merlin’s eyes and they overlapped to make him feel more and more guilty with every single second he was forced to think about them. 

“What did I do?” Arthur asked, sounding frustrated and exasperated and ultimately burning through with hurt. Merlin clenched his fists, shaking his head. 

“Not everything has to be about you, Pendragon.” It was harsh, Merlin knew. He was shutting Arthur out without explaining why, but at the moment? Merlin couldn’t give a flying fuck about anyone else’s feelings. He wanted to mourn his best friend. He wanted to bring him back to life. He wanted to scream and let the windows explode around him, something he hadn’t done since he’d been overwhelmed with the secret he lived with at the age of fourteen. Most of all, he wanted to stop feeling guilty about the fact that while Will was getting into an accident, Merlin was getting off with a gorgeous bloke without knowing that his friend needed him to protect him from something as stupidly preventable as a car accident. 

“Fine,” Arthur said, his voice as hard as steel. He didn’t say anything else, just turning on his heel and heading into the living room. Merlin breathed out through his nose, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. Hunith chose that moment to come into the kitchen, probably to grab food for their guests. 

“Merlin, honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” she asked softly, taking his hands and squeezing them reassuringly. Merlin studied her face, from the wrinkles that curved out from under her eyelashes, to the soft wisps of gray hair that escaped from her bun and fell around her face. 

“I should have stopped this from happening, mum. I should have known, should have protected him—“ 

“No, my son, no. You couldn’t have stopped this, no matter what you think. And if you keep blaming yourself, you’re going to push away all of your friends and be left alone. Merlin, don’t do that. I couldn’t stand to see you so unhappy.” Merlin knew that his mother was right, so he whispered to her that he’d do better, and carried out a plate of crackers and cheese to the three guests in the living room. 

Arthur looked sullen, but chastised, and he cast his eyes away from Merlin when he leaned down to set the plate on the coffee table, before settling onto the couch beside Gwen. Arthur and Morgana were seated in matching chairs across from them. Morgana was seated primly, her shoulders straight and her hands folded in her lap. She looked professional, but her eyes were filled with shiny sympathy, and her mouth was turned down in a frown that looked out of place on her face. Arthur was still looking down, his body language defeated and withdrawn. 

Gwen took one of Merlin’s hands, reminding him that he was just staring at the Pendragon twins, and he turned to face her. “Oh Merlin,” she said softly, once again reminding him of how much like his mother she was. She quickly put her arms around him and pulled his head down onto her shoulder, filling his nose with the scent of her shampoo and letting the tears he was trying not to squeeze out of his eyes be soaked up by the sleeve of her shirt. 

He let himself be comforted for a bit, closing his eyes when Gwen started to stroke the back of his neck, flattening the hair there that he’d neglected to comb since he’d been home. She rubbed reassuring circles into his back, and when Merlin sat up again, her wide brown eyes were looking at him like she was about to offer to do something, anything, for him. He was already feeling the guilt rise back up in the back of his throat, so he looked down at the sad cheese plate. “Anyone hungry?” he asked hoarsely. 

“We’re fine, Merlin,” Gwen said softly, and he felt her fingers dart through his hair, sticking a little bit. “We came to make sure you’re all right, and that’s what we’re going to do.” Merlin couldn’t help the wry smile that flickered across his face when he looked over at Gwen, all sympathy and kind words when he deserved none of it. 

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, but thanks, Gwen.” He felt a cool hand on his knee, and looked up to see Morgana had moved from the chair to sit on the coffee table. She was leaning towards him, looking soft and porcelain instead of her usual hardened ivory. 

“You think that now, but you’ll get through this Merlin. I know we haven’t known you very long, but you can trust us to take care of you.” Merlin’s mind flitted to his mum, who’d been so strong and helpful even though it no doubt felt like she was losing a second son. After all, Will had always been in the Emrys household growing up. 

“Do you think… That one of you could also take care of my mum? She’s so tired, she’s been up with Will since the accident…” 

“Absolutely,” Morgana said, standing without hesitation. She walked straight into the kitchen, looking completely out of place, and leaving Merlin with Gwen holding his hand and Arthur looking up sheepishly, which was a much nicer change from sullen. 

A silence fell over the room that spoke wonders for what sort of a silent, supportive friend Gwen was trying to be, but that also made Merlin shift uncomfortably. Gwen picked up on this and she pat Merlin’s leg once more before standing as well. “I’m going to get you a plate of something more substantial than cheese and crackers, and be right back,” she said, lingering for one second to exchange a look with Arthur. 

“I’m sorry, Merlin, for that scene in the kitchen,” Arthur said, straightening up in his seat and clasping his hands together. “You’re right, this isn’t about me, and I shouldn’t take anything so personally. I’m here for you, mate, whether you believe it or not.” Merlin sighed through his nose. 

“It’s just… I feel guilty. Will is lying in a hospital bed and I’m the one getting visitors and nice things done for me, and I can’t help but think that if I’d had my phone on or been at home or—“ 

“Hey now,” Arthur said, and suddenly he was there where Gwen had been sitting, taking Merlin’s shaking hands in his own. Where Merlin’s hands were thin and knobby, Arthur’s were large and strong and warm as they held him. “You couldn’t have done anything about this, you’re not god,” Merlin swallowed down even more guilt in the back of his throat. “This isn’t your fault, and there’s nothing for you to feel guilty about.” 

“See, that should make sense, but it doesn’t.” 

“Grief doesn’t always make sense, Merlin.” 

\--------------

Morgana and Arthur had gotten a couple of rooms at the small inn right outside of Ealdor that had been threatening to close its doors for years now, where they were staying and putting up Gwen. They left after Merlin’s mum had insisted on feeding them something, each of them putting a supportive hand somewhere on Merlin and telling him to call them. He made no promises, because ultimately he was ready to collapse and had no energy to explain to them that there was a line he had drawn between his life with them and his life with Will. 

“Merlin?” Hunith asked, coming into the kitchen and making Merlin realize he’d been in there a while, stirring the now cool hot cocoa he’d been making. “Dear, why don’t you go to bed and get some rest. You look like you could use it,” she said softly, cupping his cheek. 

“Okay mum,” he said, giving her a hug and dumping the cold cocoa down the sink drain. He dragged his feet down the hallway to his room, shutting the door softly and leaning against it for a moment. His room was barely touched aside from missing the things he’d taken with him when he moved. The homemade cork board he’d sloppily put together at fifteen was still leaning against the wall above his desk, with pictures and maps and tickets tacked into it. He could already see all the pictures of Will. The one from when they were five and Will’s parents had taken him and his mum to the beach with them, sand covering their bodies from burying each other in giant lumps. The one from their first trip to a pub, when they were sixteen and thought they were slick and a biker had intimidated them but insisted on buying them beers and taking photos of them, their frightened eyes contrasting with their strained smiles. 

He turned his head down, since the carpet seemed the only place safe from memories. After all, if he opened his closet he was pretty sure there were still three or four of Will’s shirts tossed on the floor that he’d forgotten or decided to keep there after having to borrow Merlin’s things. There was a poster on the wall for the movie Freakdog, which they’d been obsessed with for a little while because Will thought the actress who placed on of the side characters, Harriet, was going to be his future wife. 

Absently, Merlin rubbed over the spot that read “thank you” on his arm. Once, he’d fancied himself in love with his best friend. He’d just come out to Will and his mum, and Will had been so supportive. But Will didn’t have his soulmate’s words to him printed on his arm, and Merlin thought he knew why now. He also knew that Will’s last words to Merlin had been something crude and hilarious, not a common polite phrase. 

Merlin lied down on his bed and stared out the window until the light started to come up again, and his eyes could no longer stay open. His dreams were fitful, fading in and out. But one vividly stood out, even as he started from sleep with sweat down his back and his stomach growling softly. 

In the dream, Merlin was standing by Will’s bedside where he was connected to all those tubes and machines that were keeping his heart beating and his lungs moving until his family had said goodbye. Then in a blur, the tubes were gone, the machines were silent, but instead of becoming a corpse, Will sat up. His eyes were big, grey buttons and he opened his mouth, now adorned with stitches, bloody around the corners where the thread had begun. Through the gap created by the stretched thread, Will accused in a voice that didn’t sound human at all: “Why didn’t you save me?” 

Merlin had fallen backwards into the spindly chair provided by the hospital and tried to explain: magic couldn’t be used on death, it couldn’t have restored Will without killing another—Merlin most likely. But the corpse, which looked more and more like a puppet with each second of the dream, just kept booming its accusation at Merlin, yelling that he should have saved his life. 

Merlin’s hands were still shaking when his mum found him in the kitchen, fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug of tea he was trying to drink. She said nothing, just brushed his still damp hair from his forehead and kissed the top of his head before putting leftovers from her breakfast in front of him. “Did you want to visit the hospital today? I’ll ring Will’s mum and ask when they’ll be done.” 

He muttered a non-committal response and just continued to stare at the plate of eggs and toast and tomatoes. She sat down at the kitchen table beside him and covered one of his wrists with her hands, urging him to put the mug of tea down before he spilled it in his lap. “Dear, should I call your friends? They left the hotel number, and you look like you could use some company. I have to run some errands in town, so I’ll be gone a few.” 

“Sure Mum,” he mumbled. Though he knew he didn’t want to see Arthur (after all, he’d been an utter git the night before and knew he would be again with this newest wave of guilt over Will) he thought that Gwen might cheer him up a bit. Plus his mum was clearly worried about him and it’d make her feel better. 

She left just minutes before Gwen showed up, letting herself in. He heard her murmuring with Morgana and Arthur, telling them to sit in the living room. “Merlin, you haven’t touched your toast,” she said, taking Hunith’s seat and gesturing to the cold breakfast in front of him. He hadn’t touched his tea since his mum made him set it down. “Please eat something,” she said softly, and like a robot Merlin reached out for his fork and dug into the eggs, not even tasting them as he swallowed them. 

“Merlin, I know this must be tough on you,” she began, then sighed. “You blame yourself, don’t you?” His fingers clenched around the fork. “I may not know you as well as some, but I think I know you pretty well Merlin Emrys. And this is not your fault, and there is nothing you can do. So stop moping about and start leaning on the friends you still have alive. How would you feel if tomorrow I got run over by a cabbie and you hadn’t even had a chance to hug me before I left?” 

Merlin blinked up at her in shock. Gwen looked angrier than he’d ever seen her, with her nostrils flared and the thick curls on her head almost quivering. She also looked sad, and he thought he saw a glimmer of a tear sparkling in her eye. “Gwen,” he started, his voice cracking a little. 

“Merlin, you take too much responsibility for things you can’t control. I don’t know or care what you think you can do, the truth is you can’t do anything. So stop pushing your mother and I away, and stop pushing Arthur away.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but she just shook her head at him and jerked her thumb towards the living room. “That man is one of the kindest people I know. He’s always a perfect gentleman, and when my dad died in uni he and his sister jumped through every hoop imaginable to make me feel better.” 

“We were together,” Merlin whispered. He needed to make Gwen understand, and to make her make Arthur understand. “We were together when Will… When…” His eyes moved over the plate of half eaten food in front of him and he realized he was still clenching the fork in his fist, and that it was painful. When he let go of it, he thought he saw a glimmer of magic. 

“Then all the more reason to let him comfort you. You can’t blame him for being with you when this happened. It’s a tragic accident, and you need all the help you can get to recover from it. Mourning isn’t blaming yourself for what happened and lying in bed always stewing in your own filth.” There was a hard lump in Merlin’s throat, and he was afraid that if he looked up or opened his mouth it would dissolve into tears. 

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Merlin finally said after several minutes of silence. 

“That’s okay.” Gwen moved so that she was standing beside him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Merlin felt the threat of tears rise up, and soon they were falling, dripping down his chin onto Gwen’s arm. “I think you need to get out of the house for a bit. Maybe you and Arthur can go for a drive? Clear your head? Morgana and I can tidy up the place a bit, give your mum a break.” 

Merlin thought he choked out some kind of response, because soon Gwen ushered him upstairs to find clean clothes, and then he was blinking at the bright light outside. It was a beautiful day, and Merlin was able to muster up what felt like a decent amount of distain for the sunshine and chirping birds because of the state of his best friend lying in hospital. Arthur didn’t say anything as he went straight to the sleek, black car parked outside Merlin’s home. His mum drove a beat up car that Merlin had known since he was seven years old, so it was definitely a bit wild to see this probably expensive creature waiting for him. He got into the passenger seat without a fuss, buckling and leaning his head against the seat, staring out the window. 

Arthur had driven them almost all the way through Ealdor—it wasn’t big after all—before he spoke up. “Do you regret it? You can if you want to, it’s all right.” 

“Because I need your permission to feel something,” Merlin snapped back without thinking. 

“I…” Merlin glanced over and saw Arthur swallowing his words. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled, turning back to the window. “I don’t regret… I just… I wasn’t there for him when he needed me.” 

The silence fell back over the two of them, and Merlin wondered if Arthur would just drive him home now. He wanted to curl up on his bed and stare out the window at the tree that he and Will used to climb as kids. It was a gnarled old thing that had branches leaning out over the neighbor’s. They used to climb up and dangle ropes down to play with the dog in the yard next door. 

“Merlin that’s absurd.” Arthur’s voice had an edge to it, but it was still muted as if he were speaking in a library. “What else would you have been doing then? Working? Talking with Gwen? You wouldn’t have been here in Ealdor, you wouldn’t have been with your friend.” 

“Maybe I—“ 

“No, Merlin. There’s no way you could have stopped this.” The words were firm, hard, and Merlin was finding it harder to ignore them than when his mother had said it, or Gwen. Instead, they sank deep into his mind and sat there, coiling out in the most reassuring way possible. Tears threatened behind his eyelids, and he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes to stop them. 

He swallowed and chanced a glance at Arthur again. Arthur’s eyes were trained on the road, though he seemed not to notice that they had left Ealdor and were on the road towards Albion. Merlin thought about reminding him that they should turn around, but he stopped himself and turned his eyes to the road. “Thank you,” he whispered, surprised when the usual shudder that came with saying or hearing those words didn’t come. 

“I lost my mother when I was young. Well, she died in childbirth. Morgana was born first, you know. I was a whole twelve minutes later and I guess the strain was too much for her. My father didn’t tell me until I was a teenager. He tried to guilt me into going to university where he had chosen, and frankly it worked. It took me a few years to work through it that I couldn’t hold myself accountable for her death.” 

Merlin let this absorb into his mind. He tried to decide if he should say something comforting to Arthur, or just politely let the topic shift. “How do you stop blaming yourself?” he whispered hoarsely. 

“I never did,” Arthur responded, ”so I can’t really say.” Merlin swallowed, then hesitantly reached out a hand, hovering it over Arthur’s knee. He didn’t say anything, so Merlin patted him gingerly and retracted his arm, staring straight ahead. “Where can I turn around? I meant to ask a little while ago but…” 

“Up ahead you’ll see a sign with a big faded apple on it. You can pull into the drive there.” Five minutes later they were heading back towards Ealdor, and the silence was stretching taut again. 

“I think his parents might pull the plug soon,” Merlin said, wincing to himself as he said the harsh words. He felt for a moment that he could see them, dangling in the air like sharpened knives on strings, waving with the threat of pain before his eyes. “I know them… They… They’re going to ask my mum and I to be there.” Merlin’s eyes itched but no tears came. 

“You don’t have to go.” 

“Yes, I do. He was my best friend. Is my best friend. God, how can I watch my best friend die?” 

“Your best friend is in a better place, Merlin. All that’s there in that hospital is a body.” Merlin knew that, of course. But he couldn’t feel it. Not the way that Arthur’s telling him not to feel guilty had made him feel. His magic itched under the surface of his skin like his dried up eyes, and he clenched his fingers into fists on his thighs. Now wasn’t the time. 

The sign for Ealdor, half hidden behind a tree, came into view and Merlin breathed through his nose, trying to convince his magic to calm down. But it started humming, and Merlin saw Arthur glance at him for a second. “Everything all right?” he asked warily. 

“Please pull over,” Merlin gritted out, looking down at his white knuckles. Arthur quickly complied, the car gliding smoothly into the grassy shoulder in front of the Ealdor sign. Merlin was out of his seatbelt and into the thick tress to the side of the road in a moment. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled. Merlin heard the car door slam, but he just kept pushing through the trees. There was a clearing, he knew, and all he needed was to get to it. But he couldn’t run: it was hard enough to keep the magic contained, keep it from bursting out and hurting something or someone. He didn’t need to turn to know that Arthur was following behind him. He probably thought that Merlin was just going to be sick. 

Merlin could see the clearing—he’d gone there with Will plenty of times. They’d nick a bottle of whiskey from his parents’ liquor cabinet and take swigs while Merlin would do little tricks he’d taught himself. Stupid things like making dragons out of the embers of Will’s cigs or fairies out of fallen leaves. Now he felt the magic bubbling up like his blood was boiling and his heart was the spilling cauldron, letting the steam flow up and out. He managed to get one foot through the brush when Arthur grabbed his wrist. 

“Let go!” he snarled, turning towards Arthur and ripping his wrist away. Arthur froze and Merlin wondered, for a brief second, if that was gold he’d just seen reflected in Arthur’s sea-blue eyes was from him. He backed away, feeling a hint of sun on the back of his neck. Arthur stood frozen on the edge of the clearing, not moving away or towards him. 

The magic was insistent, and Merlin closed his eyes, willing it out of his body. He just wanted to let it all go. Wind whipped him, raking through his hair like a lover’s fingers—like Arthur’s had done—and flattening his shirt against his body, pulling at his sides and putting pressure on his diaphragm. Then the wind tunnel dissipated and he felt heat running up and down his arms, through his fingertips and down to his toes, spreading across his skin and seeping into his muscles. The heat settled somewhere in his chest, and his breathing became easier. 

When the magic had done what it needed it retreated back into him, slinking through his veins and letting the chill of grief return. Merlin opened his eyes, and saw that Arthur was still frozen on the edge of the clearing. Had he even blinked? Oh, yes, there he was blinking. 

His expression was a mix of fear and something else Merlin wasn’t so sure of. It was only slightly different from the faces that haunted his dreams as a teenager, faces he was sure would be all over town if he’d revealed his secret to Ealdor. Faces he hadn’t feared nearly as much since moving to Cardiff. Anxiety punched through his gut, and he shrugged in on himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as if that could make him look smaller and less dangerous. “Arthur?” he called out, taking a step forward. 

Arthur took a step back, his hands rising up just slightly as if to urge Merlin to stay back. Merlin clenched his teeth and stopped moving. “I’m sorry,” Merlin said, his voice carrying across the clearing. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“You don’t… Please just…” Arthur stepped forward, and then started slowly approaching Merlin. “You don’t have to apologize for your…gift.” 

“Gift?” Merlin scoffed. 

“Look you took me by surprise. Did you realize that you had actual rays of light shining out of you? Because yeah, you did. Like great big golden tentacles.” 

“That happens sometimes,” Merlin muttered, taking a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “Will called me The Kraken for a few months the first time it happened.” 

“Well as long as it’s happened before,” Arthur deadpanned. Merlin ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced himself at the grease that clung to his fingers as a result. 

“Sometimes it just builds up, and I have to let it out somehow. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything, it’s not dangerous it was just—“ 

“Merlin,” Arthur cut him off, moving forward in the clearing until he was only a foot or so away. “I’m not scared. Surprised, maybe, but not scared. Do you know how we discovered Morgana had magic?” Merlin shook his head. “She set her bedroom on fire and nearly got trapped there. But she made it out and we found someone to teach her to control her magic. She’d had it pent up for so long that it just exploded out.” 

Merlin nodded slowly, putting his hands back in his pockets. “At least I didn’t set something on fire.” 

“Yes, at least we have that.” Arthur was smiling, and Merlin felt a pressure rise off his chest. He’d forgotten for a moment that Morgana had magic, and that Arthur was more than a Pendragon. He let Arthur lead him back to the car, and drive him back to his house. When they got inside he excused himself to take a shower and heard no arguments from the twins or Gwen. 

\--------------

That evening, Merlin was sitting on the couch with his mum after Gwen, Arthur, and Morgana went back to the inn. His mother had put a hot cuppa in his hands and then turned on some old movie that he hadn’t really been paying attention. He was waiting for the sound of the phone to ring, to tell him that it was time for him to let Will go once and for all. Every five or ten minutes Hunith would put a hand on Merlin’s knee, pat him gently, and remove it. As soon as the tea in his mug was gone she was up and refilling it. Merlin felt terrible, an icky gummy feeling in the pits of his stomach telling him that he should be doing more. But there was nothing left to do. 

The phone call did come that night. Merlin agreed to meet Will’s folks at the hospital in the morning. Hunith found him, a few minutes before they should have been in the car, sitting on his bed with a pair of dark trousers on but no shirt. He was holding one in his hands, a printed tee that Will had gotten him for his birthday. It had an incredibly inappropriate joke printed on the front, but Hunith took one look at it and reassured him that he could wear a jumper too. He was thankful for that when they reached the hospital and he could wrap his sweaty palms in the knit sleeves. 

“Merlin,” Will’s father said gruffly, holding a hand out to shake. Merlin took it and felt the clammy skin of the man’s palm. His magic buzzed in the back of his mind, and he tried to put his comforting words into the handshake. It seemed to work because Will’s dad seemed to straighten his shoulders for a second, even as he cast a quick look through the windows of his son’s room. Next, Merlin embraced Will’s mum, kissing her softly on the cheek and trying to imagine peace and calm falling over her. Her eyes looked a little drier when she let him go. 

Will’s room was deafening with noise, at least it felt so to Merlin. Each machine that beeped and prattled in its own language to indicate life. Merlin closed his eyes for a second and was overwhelmed by the waves of shrill beeps and soft echoes that seemed to go faster and louder with their impending end. Merlin felt a hand on his arm, and he opened his eyes as his mother slipped in beside him, patting his arm softly and rubbing circles into his back with her other hand. 

Will’s mum stood by his bedside, cradling her son’s hand in both of hers and holding her sobs in behind pursed lips. The doctor spoke softly to Will’s dad, who nodded in response. Merlin fumbled for his mother’s hand, taking it off his arm and squeezing it tightly. She squeezed back, and the pressure helped to ground him, to keep him there with his best friend. He swallowed down the soft wave of magic that was reaching its way up through him, as threatening as his overwhelming sadness. 

Merlin deliberately turned his head so that he couldn’t see the doctor in the corner of his eye fiddling with the machines. But he heard the beeping quicken and saw Will’s father put an arm around his wife while her shoulders shook with new tears. Will didn’t move, of course he didn’t, not even as the doctor reached over and began removing tubes. It was a vain wish, but Merlin had hoped that Will would suddenly sit up and start yelling at them all for standing about and crying like a bunch of babies. No such thing happened. Will’s chest barely moved, and the beeping began to filter in intermittently. The doctor touched the monitor that recorded the pulses of Will’s remaining life, and the sounds stopped. 

“Time of death,” the doctor told them all solemnly, and Will’s parents seemed to fold into each other, unable to stand as individuals any longer. Merlin felt his mum press him away from the room, only through the pressure of her hands on his arm and his back and his hand and his neck. Somehow she managed to herd him out of the room, and in a blur of grey and white he found himself struggling to open the car door and get into his seat. 

“Merlin?” his mother asked, and he turned towards her. “I’m sorry.” He said nothing. 

He said nothing when they had small servings of Gwen’s casserole—which was of course delicious. He said nothing when Hunith called his friends and they came over to offer words of comfort. He said nothing when Gwen offered to go with Hunith, who had to visit her work and get some papers to work on. He said nothing when Morgana went grocery shopping, promising to return with hard liquor. 

Merlin was sitting on the couch, a cup of tea growing cold on the table in front of him and Arthur beside him. He heard Arthur clear his throat once, twice, and then a third time. “Are you going to say something?” Merlin finally asked, his voice hoarse and raspy. He was surprised that anything came out at all, if truth were told. 

“I can’t think of something that doesn’t sound hollow,” Arthur told him. “Morgana’s got the right of it, getting liquor. Only thing for it, really.” Merlin surprised them both when a bubble of laughter spilled out of his lips. The laughs kept coming, though, and soon Arthur was laughing as well. Merlin leaned into Arthur’s shoulder and felt his shoulder shaking underneath him. Arthur’s laughs were more physical, like a wave rolling up and down, and Merlin found it difficult to stay seated, instead collapsing into Arthur’s lap as the laughter continued. 

It died shortly thereafter and Merlin found himself turning onto his back so he could look up at Arthur, who was smiling down at him kindly. And then Arthur’s hands were combing through Merlin’s hair—which had been washed that morning, thankfully—and Merlin closed his eyes, letting himself relax. “You’re like a head masseuse,” Merlin moaned, tilting his head to the side a little so that Arthur could get an itchy spot a few inches above his left ear. 

Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling down to where Merlin’s neck was balanced on Arthur’s thigh. “My services don’t come free, just so you know.” 

“I’m not going to blow you on my mum’s couch,” Merlin mumbled. He’d made that mistake before. 

“You know, Merlin,” Arthur put emphasis on the beginning of the name and Merlin frowned, opening one eye to glare at him half-heartedly. “Before you so abruptly assumed I was trying to kick you out after a quick shag, I was trying to figure out a way to ask you on a proper date.” 

Merlin tried to make some sort of sound of derision, but it came out closer to a purr when Arthur scraped his nails against the itch on Merlin’s scalp. 

“Can I take that as a yes?” Arthur asked in the most obnoxiously smug voice Merlin thought he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing. He managed to rise above the scalp massage for long enough to mutter something affirmative. “Good. Though I do hope we won’t have to lure you in with promises of drunken revelries and set ups between friends to convince you to spend time with all of us.” 

Merlin was too busy enjoying having his hair played with to come up with a witty retort but he did manage an obscene hand gesture that elicited a high, girly gasp from the hallway. Merlin flew up on the couch, and caught sight of Morgana, standing there with a paper bag cradled in her elbow and a thin smirk on her lips. “Merlin Emrys, I am aghast, I am agog! I’m not sure I can trust you with my dearest younger brother if you’re willing to make such gestures.” 

But then she was pulling bottles of whiskey out of her bag and handing them over the back of the couch and that was the end of that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when I'll be posting the next two parts but I do have the plot already in mind and the writing in the works.


End file.
